Fostering Hatred
by Fictatious
Summary: Movie version base, Folken's a jerk and we don't like him, makes some odd connections, desturbing, upsetting, grim, dark, violent, cruel, ghastly.
1. Which is deceptively not horrible

Most characters within were created by and belong to the persons associated with The Escaflowne Movie Copyright 2000

Fostering Hatred

Chapter One  
Whispers

The countrymen were worried and upset and depressingly superstitious. Usually, orphans were taken in by the community. The Adon Dragon Clan was proud to say that there were no homeless children on its streets. Unfortunately, when a clan was as old as this one, centuries old beliefs and superstitions still ran rampant. Any and all birth defects and oddities were feared and scorned.

No one would dare to take in such an odd looking orphan as had just come into their midst. Whispers of demon, bad luck and evil spirit filtered among the people. His mother's profession may have been used as an excuse, but it was fear that kept them closing their doors to the infant.

Varie felt angry tears prickling at the back of her eyes. One would think she'd become accustomed to hearing the whispers in ten years, or that the people would become accustomed to the prince's mismatched eye, but the head shaking and muffled speaking behind hands continued to stab at her heart.

The day was rainy and oddly chill for the late summer months. She gazed out through the small window of her coach and watched the gray, muddy streets go by. They'd been traveling for a few hours, and she was fairly sure they would reach their destination shortly.

Thank the gods Kora had noticed the child's entry to the world. As a bastard bearing the blood of the Dragon Clan, he was an oddity that Kora was likely to notice. Varie would have been haunted by the death of the child, had she not heard of him in time to save him from the cruel, cold shoulder of abandonment. A great swell of contempt for mankind threatened to bring the prickling back to her eyes.

The coach ground to a stop outside a nondescript inn. Varie jumped slightly, realizing they had stopped moving, and pulled the fur cloak beside her round her shoulders. The coachman opened the door for her to step out into the miserable downpour. She strided towards the inn with an ere of menacing confidence.

When she opened the door, the few patrons that saw fit to be there in the middle of day scrambled into surprised bows. She nodded vaguely to them and walked toward the counter that the innkeeper was hurrying around.

'May I get you anything, Your Majesty?' he enquired nervously.

'Thank you, no,' Varie responded curtly. 'I'd like to be home before evening.'

'Of course,' the innkeeper bowed. 'If you would follow me, Madam,' he bowed again and lead her through the door separating the inn from his home. His somewhat rotund wife looked up as they entered and then hopped to her feet to dip a clumsy curtsy. 'Majesty,' she said, her face tilted down.

'Don't just stand there, woman,' the innkeeper scolded, 'Her Ladyship is in a hurry!'

His wife nodded, looking as though she had only just remembered what was happening and skipped off through a door to the left, returning in a moment with an armful of blankets. Varie held her arms out to accept it, relief playing over both women's faces.

Varie rocked the bundle slowly and pulled back at the loose blankets, uncovering the sleeping face of the tiny baby. Delicate, white down was curled all round his head; a bruise from labor ran just above one little, red ear. His hand fisted and twitched back, he squirmed a moment and opened his eyes, awakened by the cool air of the room.

Varie stared back at him for a long while as he caught hold of a one of her fair brown locks and twined his round, soft fingers through it. His eyes were defiantly not the blue of a baby's or any other human seeming color. They were brilliant magenta, as the whispers had said, and hypnotically engaging.

'Does he have a name?' she enquired, looking back up to the innkeeper's wife.

She nodded solemnly, 'His mother said he'd be Dilandau, just before she passed.'

Varie pulled him under her cloak for the walk back to the coach, giving the innkeeper a handful of coins and bidding him and his wife a brusque farewell. She sang softly to Dilandau until he fell asleep again, and then to herself as the coach rumbled on through the rain.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dune was utterly enchanted by the baby Varie arrived back at the palace with. He sat cradling his arms round the bundle of blankets and staring at him while Varie conversed in low voices with her husband.

'I won't let the poor thing be cast away to die of neglect just for being a little different,' Varie said in a cool voice, the discussion of the previous evening repeating itself.

'Of course not,' Goau answered. 'I just wonder that there's no one who will take him in.'

'They're all afraid to, the wretched people,' Varie scowled. Then she smiled, sliding her hand into Goau's, 'Look at Dune. He looks so pleased. He's always been so ashamed of his eyes. Now look, he'll see that he's not so strange. Maybe being able to relate to this baby will help him to gain confidence himself.'

Goau nodded, closing his eyes.

'And he's so close to Van's age. You always said you wished you'd had a friend your age around when you were a child,' Varie leaned her head against Goau's shoulder.

'I know,' Goau replied softly, kissing her hair.

Varie smiled and sighed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

There seemed to be artistic differences about the placement of the last block onto the pyramid/pile Van and Dilandau were building on the floor of the playroom. One would put it here, the other would take it off and put it there.

'No!' Van shouted taking the wooden block back again, 'No no no!'

Dune tilted his gaze back to the book he was supposed to be reading. It was a dreadfully dry thing on the history of King Dael IV. Van exploded into an angry shout that overpowered the sound of blocks clattering to the floor entirely and drew Dune's attention back to the toddlers.

Van was stamping his foot and screaming his favorite new word, 'No! No _no!_'

Dilandau picked up a few blocks and started stacking them again as Van berated him with shouts. Dune half wondered which one had knocked over the pile. It really didn't matter, Van would shout either way.

'Shut up, Van,' Dune sighed, turning the to the next boring page of his book.

'No!' Van shouted back, though given that he used the same word to indicate _everything_ he wanted or was feeling, it meant very little.

Dilandau turned his face back towards Dune and smiled a wide, gappy grin. Van pushed over the new stack of blocks and started restacking them again, babbling lightly as he did so.

Dune read a few more paragraphs before a block was dropped into his lap. He set the book face down on the arm of his chair and smiled amusedly at Dilandau, closely followed by Van who, not to be outdone, was carrying two blocks to offer his brother.

The door opened and Varie swept in, her long skirts making a soft whispering as they brushed the stone floor then silencing when she advanced on to the carpet within the playroom. She smiled warmly, stopping just inside the door. Van abandoned his blocks and waddled happily over to his mother instead. Varie bent and hoisted him into her arms as he reached her.

'Good afternoon, mother,' Dune smiled up at her, wrapping an arm around Dilandau's waist and pulling him up as he attempted to scale the side of the chair.

'You've picked an odd place to study, Dune,' Varie glided over to him, sitting on the footstool that was pushed slightly to the side of him.

Dune shrugged, 'I can't concentrate in silence.'

'And you can concentrate here?' Varie raised an inquisitive eyebrow at him, watching Dilandau again handing the block to him.

'No,' Dune chuckled.

'No!' Van chorused happily.

'Oh try a different word, sweet!' Varie gave Van a squeeze. 'You're getting to sound so disagreeable.'

'When has he not?' Dune asked with a grin.

Varie sent him an annoyed look, 'Very few babies are dead silent, you know.'

The smile faded from Dune's face and he looked back at Dilandau. 'He'll talk,' he said, brushing back the little boy's fluffy hair to look at him.

'I didn't say he wouldn't,' Varie insisted. She heard the whispers too. Maids gossiped in the dark corners about the strange muteness of the child. It wasn't true of course; Dilandau did vocalize on occasion but still had yet to master any words.

'He's collecting words,' Dune pulled Dilandau into a hug and the toddler's small squishy arms wrapped happily around his neck.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dune followed the sound of soft, distraught sobs. It lead him to a rose bush, well guarded by thorns and too low to the ground for him to climb under, as rose bushes tend to be. 'Dilandau, come out of there,' he urged, sitting down on the grass beside it.

There was a reluctant silence, broken by sniffling, then the rustling scraping sound of the five year old crawling out of the bush, over the dead leaves and thorns. As he immerged into the daylight, Dune could see a number of angry, red scratches along his slender arms and a few dotting his creamy face.

'What's wrong?' Dune asked, pulling Dilandau into his lap and holding him tightly.

Dilandau sniffled and leaned his head against Dune's shoulder, clutching at his shirt and pressing close. 'A maid called me a demon,' he enunciated in the clear adult way he had done since starting to speak at nearly four.

Dune's expression hardened, 'Which one?'

'Hattie,' Dilandau hooked one arm around Dune's back.

'She said that to you?' Dune stroked Dilandau's fine hair comfortingly.

'No,' Dilandau shook his head slightly, sniffing, 'she did not know I heard her.'

Dune nodded. Despite this, he would be sure this Hattie was sent away within the day. 'Don't listen to them. They're stupid. They don't know what they're talking about,' Dune muttered into Dilandau's hair, kissing the top of his head.

'She say I have evil eyes,' Dilandau insisted, burying his face in Dune's shirt.

'Am I a demon, Dilandau?' Dune asked.

'No!' Dilandau pushed away slightly, looking up at him in shock. 'Of course not!'

Dune smiled and hugged Dilandau close to him again, 'People say I have evil eyes. We're different, but that doesn't matter. We're better than them.'

'Really?' Dilandau's eyes shown with tears, but he was smiling weakly now.

'Really,' Dune smiled back at him.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

'Why is Dune sad?' Dilandau asked crisply.

Varie jumped slightly, looking down at him in surprise. 'Why do you think Dune is sad, Dilandau?' Varie asked.

'Because he is,' Dilandau answered smoothly, tearing up fistfuls of grass and depositing them into a growing pile he and Van seemed to have been working on for a while.

Van looked up with mild interest, without breaking the methodic ruining of the lawn. Varie had been wondering whether there was any intended purpose for it. 'Sometimes,' she said slowly, stretching for an explanation though having none herself, 'people just need to be sad. There doesn't always have to be a reason for it. People just get sad sometimes.'

The boys picked quietly at the grass for a long while. Varie was never quite sure when conversations with Dilandau were over. He would take long pauses while turning things over in his mind and always seemed to leave off without any indication of closing.

Varie refrained from sighing as she stared off into space. Dilandau was right about Dune, like he usually was. He always seemed able to read Dune better than she herself could, though he paid little attention to goings and comings of other people.

The whispers were bolder in some ways and more secretive in others than they ever had been before. They all bore the same message now. They all told the same sad, terrifying tale. The eldest prince was going mad. The new whispers lead to a revival in the old whispers, as well. Suddenly everyone was telling their neighbors and fellows how they had always known it was coming. First the oddness of the prince's eye, a bad omen to begin with, but taking that little demon child in was a terrible stroke of bad judgement.

Varie had sent away three maids just that month for gossiping and so soon she was hearing herself included in the whispers. The queen, poor woman, her favorite son was going mad. She was worrying herself to death over it. Poor woman.

'He's been sad a long time. I wish he will stop soon,' Dilandau said with a soft sigh, pausing in the defoliation for a moment.

'"Would",' Varie corrected his tense as she often found herself doing of late, though she rarely did for Van. 'So do I.'


	2. In which the violence begins

Most characters within were created by and belong to the persons associated with The Escaflowne Movie Copyright 2000

Fostering Hatred

Chapter Two  
Destruction

Varie shouted as she ran out into the garden. She could see the three children look up, guiltily and, after one last push, the squabble stopped. She came to a stop with her feet spread, hands on hips and looking more intimidating than really seemed possible from such a mild beauty as herself. Voice brimming with anger, she demanded an explanation for their brutish behavior.

'Dilandau hit Meryl!' Van shouted, pointing an accusing finger.

'She was scratching me!' Dilandau wailed pushing back his hair and holding out his arm to show the oozing red tracks of claws running across his temple and forearm.

'Meryl!' Varie's glare turned on the kitten, 'You nearly blinded him!'

Meryl was nearly in tears and staring at the ground in guilt, but still ready to defend her actions against criticisms. 'He's yell at Lord Van!' she whined.

'There is no excuse for violence, Meryl. You must never do that again,' Varie said very seriously, pinching the cat-girls chin in her hand to make her look up.

'He's yell at Lord Van,' Meryl whimpered pathetically.

'_He_ called Dune crazy!' Dilandau shouted, almost in tears with anger and pain at the scratches.

Varie's face fell and she went very still and quiet. She looked at her younger son who wouldn't look back at her and felt a lump rise in her throat.

'Did not,' Van lied, looking at his feet.

'Van,' Varie's voice shook as she looked at him, 'Van, you must never say something like that. It's cruel and wrong and untrue.'

Van nodded, not looking at her. Dilandau turned, making to run away.

'Dilandau!' Varie called, a slight note of panic in her voice, 'Don't tell Dune, it would only hurt his feelings, and Van didn't mean it, right, Van?'

Van nodded, examining the ground.

'There, see? Nothing wrong,' Varie patted Van's head and stood. 'Now you all go play.'

Dilandau nodded and then glared at Van a moment after Varie turned her back, before bolting back towards the palace. Van glared after him, Meryl clinging to his arm, and paying little attention to his mother as she drifted away.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dilandau rapped his knuckles against the door and called 'It's Dilandau,' to the room beyond. There was a long quiet pause and then Dune's voice called back, granting him entry. Dilandau stepped into the darkened room to find Dune curled in a corner, back and face pressed against the cold, bare walls.

'What's wrong?' Dilandau asked hesitantly, crossing the floor towards him. The carpet was worn rather thin with trails of agitated pacing.

'...It's dark and cold,' Dune answered in a husky, feint voice.

'The drapes are closed,' Dilandau paused near him. 'Shall I open them?'

Dune shook his head slowly, staring into space, 'It wouldn't matter. Even outside it's the same. It looks bright but it's not. I can feel it. It's like the whole world's inside a giant cave.'

Dilandau stood still next to him, unsure what to say to that. Dune seemed to only then become aware of his presence. He looked up, smiled in a fake way and held out an arm to Dilandau. Dilandau hugged him round the neck and was enfolded by Dune's slightly trembling arms.

'The world's all cold and cruel and doesn't make sense. It used to make sense. It used to be simple... What's changed? People have always been cruel though. I remember them calling me a monster since I could understand what they were saying at all. Stupid people, calling me mad because I look a little different,' he clung to Dilandau, shaking and not entirely sure why he was. He assumed it was from cold. The horrible, intangible cold he couldn't seem to escape from. He pressed his cheek against Dilandau's silky hair and sighed, 'You're so warm.'

'I wish you weren't sad anymore,' Dilandau said into Dune's shoulder.

Dune nodded, 'I must be terribly depressing to be around.'

'No,' Dilandau shook his head, 'I just wish you'd feel better.'

Dune smiled, stroking Dilandau's hair and loosening his grip on the child, 'You cheer me up though, Dilandau. You're one part of the world that hasn't gone bad.'

Dilandau beamed happily and Dune kissed his soft, warm cheek, saying he'd come out of his room and try to be happier.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Kora sang sweetly, mending the collar of a shirt and gazing out the window. Sora sang with her, having learned the words by heart, just from listening to her mother. Kora smiled back at her as they sang one of the most ancient songs in existence. It was then that a vision hit her, the first one she'd had in several years, and made her pause, looking up from her mending to smile at Sora who looked confused and concerned at her sudden silence.

'The gods have told me who the next king of Adon will be,' she said quietly, finishing her mending before going to fetch her traveling cloak.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dune paced angrily about his room. The tapestry that had hung on one wall was strewn on the ground, lamps and the mirror and even some furniture was broken into bits. It was a long time before he heard the knocking through his curtain of blind rage. He glared at the door and it slammed open seemingly of its own accord, revealing Dilandau who was quite wide-eyed with terror.

Dilandau yelped with fearful surprise as he was yanked forward with a thought and the door shut violently behind him. He stumbled and sat heavily on the floor, staring up at Dune as he went back to pacing and talking angrily to himself more than Dilandau.

'And they think a fvcking eight-year-old is more fit to rule than me? That stupid Oracle doesn't know what she's talking about! That whining brat is a complete moron! Why in all the hells of the world would she choose him?'

Dilandau threw up his arms to protect his face as one of the bedposts flew into splinters before Dune's forceful gaze. Dune glared at the demolished stump of wood for a moment then threw himself to the ground, like a tantruming child. He crossed his arms and glared at the ceiling.

Dilandau remained glued to where he had fallen for several minutes of silence before daring to approach Dune, for fear that he would launch into another fit of violence. After a long time with no movement or sign of resuming the tirade, Dilandau crawled across the floor and sat next to Dunes shoulder. Dune did not shift his gaze from the ceiling.

'I'm sorry she picked Van,' Dilandau said quietly. 'He's not near as smart as you and you'd be such a better king.'

Dune's eyelashes flickered slightly but he didn't say anything in return.

'I wish you were king. You'd be a great king,' Dilandau's fear was slowly ebbing away into an offended sort of anger. 'Van is stupid and mean and rude and terrible!'

Dune glanced sideways at Dilandau who was staring embarrassedly at his hands. 'Why so angry with Van lately, Dilandau? You've been snubbing each other for weeks.'

'He called you crazy,' Dilandau said in a low, angry voice.

Dune's eyes narrowed, 'Did he?'

Dilandau nodded, looking anxiously up at him.

Dune stared back at the ceiling and there was another very long silence as he thought. Finally he spoke in a harsh, clear voice that didn't sound so much angry as deadly determined, 'I will be king.'

'But--'

'It doesn't matter what the Oracle says. What power does she have? Why should we listen to her at all?' Dune sat up, grabbing Dilandau by the shoulders and going on excitedly. 'Her family has been ruling mine for too long! She thinks she's better than us, than the entire kingdom! She's manipulating us for her own purposes and we've been letting her all this time!'

'She--' Dilandau started, fearful and amazed by the sudden life and anger in Dune's eyes.

'The kingdom deserves better than to be ruled by some damned fortuneteller! We should be ruling them! I'll be the king that brings an end to their reign! No, I'll be better than that; I'll make this country greater than its own borders! I'll be an emperor!' Dune laughed, letting go of Dilandau and standing. 'This is the beginning of a new age!'

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Van was screaming, the idiot. Meryl was burying her face in his arm. He was calling out for his slaughtered parents. And Dune, no Folken, he'd abandoned the name given to him by the Oracle when he started this campaign, was just in the next room. In eyesight. He hadn't turned around yet, hadn't seen Van.

Dilandau threw his weight and a certain amount of mental force against Van, throwing him through the door to his right and pulling it shut after. He stepped forward, away from the door as he saw Folken turn, eyes glowing madly with the reflection of fire, start charging in his direction.

Folken stopped, his father's head hanging from one hand and his sword poised in the other, pointed down at Dilandau. He stared ahead for a moment, seeming dazed and unsure before lowering it and saying in an odd, unnatural voice, '...Dilandau?'

Dilandau shook, staring up with eyes full of horror and accusation.

'I thought I heard Van...' Folken said mildly, swaying slightly and looking rather punch-drunk.

'You killed Lady Varie...' Dilandau choked. 'Why did you kill Lady Varie?'

Folken looked down at him, troubled and confused by the child's reaction, 'You can't build a new world on the foundation of the old, Dilandau.'

Dilandau burst into hysterical tears and flung himself at Folken, throwing weak, untrained punches. Folken looked down at him for a moment in the same dazed confusion before kicking him brutally to the ground.

'Stop this foolishness, Dilandau. Come. The castle's burning. We need to leave,' Folken said vaguely, drifting down the hall, still gripping his father's bloodstained hair.


	3. Which is the most horrible thing in this...

Most characters within were created by and belong to the persons associated with The Escaflowne Movie Copyright 2000

Fostering Hatred

Chapter Three  
Rape

Dilandau, bright child that he was, was quickly mastering swordplay. His defense was excellent and his offence was neat and well above anyone's expectations of a child, but he still lacked the ruthlessness to be truly great. He was far too forgiving in a fight and that annoyed Folken greatly.

He scurried excitedly down the hall beside Folken, proud that Folken had come to see him fight and anxious that there might have been some flaw in his performance. Folken's face was placid and emotionless, showing no sign of approval or disapproval.

He snapped at the guards inside the door to his thrown room and gestured for them to leave. They marched smartly from the room, pulling the large doors, covered in ornate carvings, closed behind them. He then turned to Dilandau and slapped him across the face.

Dilandau recoiled slightly and then quickly snapped to attention, not inquiring as to the reason for discipline or protesting it. Folken scowled down at him.

'You drew that out too long,' he threw over his shoulder as he turned towards the thrown, making sure Dilandau knew he was an unimportant speck. 'Your opponent was a much weaker fighter than you. You were giving him slack. You have no business not performing to your full potential.'

'I'm sorry, Lord Folken,' Dilandau answered in a way that might have seemed automatic to some, but Folken's ear could easily pick out the ring of sincerity in the words.

Folken slapped him again, 'If I ever catch you _letting_ an opponent gain ground like that again, the consequences will be severe.'

'Yes, Lord Folken,' Dilandau nodded glumly.

A grin curled at Folken's lips. Despite his rough treatment, the boy still seemed to utterly adore him. He dropped carefully to his knees, to look Dilandau in the eye. He had often dropped to his and Van's level when talking to them in his younger years. The thought of Van brought rage welling up in Folken the way it always did.

He could see sudden alarm in Dilandau's features, as anger must have played across his own. He wrapped his arms around the boy, drawing him in close so that their cheeks brushed lightly.

Dilandau's skin was still soft and perfect in the way of a child. His cheek was a flawless sea of cream against Folken's. Folken pushed his fingers through Dilandau's hair, holding the child's face in close as he whispered, 'Do you love me, Dilandau?'

'Yes, Lord Folken,' Dilandau replied promptly. Folken grinned.

'Would you kill for me? Would you _die_ for me, Dilandau?' Folken asked in the same cool whisper.

'Yes, Lord Folken,' Dilandau said just as easily.

'Are you afraid of me?'

Dilandau paused, hesitating and unsure of the right answer. Folken could feel him trembling very slightly. '...Yes, Lord Folken,' he hazarded, his voice slightly shriller than normal.

The grin tugging at the corners of Folken's mouth pulled his lips back from his teeth. Dilandau calmed again, deciding he must have answered correctly. Dilandau leaned in to Folken slightly, not at all upset by the controlling embrace he was being held in.

Folken mused at how easily he could break the boy's neck; kill him on a whim. But Dilandau trusted him completely. After being hit and spurned on a regular basis for years, he still never questioned. He'd gotten used to it, Folken supposed. He ever knew Folken was likely to hit him and was prepared for it, expected it. Obviously Folken was getting too predictable.

Folken's lips brushed across Dilandau's face away from the soft, round, little ear he had been whispering into, coming to rest over the boy's own lips. He could feel the strong pulse through those lightly chapped lips, beating steadily away and then raising as Folken pressed their faces closer, kissing the boy like a unsated lover.

Dilandau was frozen with terror. He almost drew himself away, stopped by Folken's restraining arms wrapped round his waist and shoulders. Folken continued to explore his mouth, tongue sliding over the vacant spaces that Dilandau's last two baby teeth had left a few weeks earlier. The sweet, feint taste of decay greeted him.

He moved his left arm from Dilandau's waist to run it across the soft, perfect skin on his neck. Perfect, unblemished, sweet. Folken drew his face away at length, examining Dilandau's eyes. The pupils contracted in fear, the vast field of magenta seemed almost to be uninterrupted. And so sweet, so unmarred, so innocent and pure.

Rage welled up within Folken, even as blood began to pool around his thumb where his sharpened nail bit in to the tender flesh under the boy's eye. After all the abuse, the little bastard still dared to be pure. After all this, Folken had been disillusioned, rejected, hurt and all innocence he may have had left was erased the moment he took his own father's life.

It wasn't fair. Dilandau had no right to be so pure. Folken suddenly hated him for it. Hated him more than anyone in the world. Hated him more than the gods and prophets and even Van. It wasn't fair.

He threw Dilandau hard to the ground, standing back up himself. He glared for a moment as Dilandau yelped and then looked shakily up, deciding whether he should attempt to get back up.

Folken lunged forward at him again, but Dilandau's panicked psyonic blast threw him back, making him stumble away. Folken paused, glaring down at Dilandau as he blanched. Dilandau rarely used his powers unprompted and _never_ against Folken.

Folken returned the attack, much amplified and watched with pleasure as the boy sprawled, his head making a sharp cracking sound against the marble and the breath being knocked from his lungs. He waited a moment, relishing the way Dilandau gasped and shook before grabbing a handful of the child's hair and pulling him upright.

Dilandau wailed as he came up, his voice frantic and terrified, 'I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!'

Folken said nothing, raging. Still he took the blame. For an unprovoked attack on his person, he took the blame. That little bastard. Even now, his purity shown, infuriating and unfair. Folken wanted to take it. Wanted to destroy it. More than anything in the world, he wanted to destroy it.

Dilandau gasped as he was lifted off his feet and thrown over one arm of the throne. He was confused and terrified. He was shaking. Folken hated him more every moment. He would turn his pain back on his offender, like he had so many times before, like he had to the Dragon Clan itself.

Dilandau was shaking violently as Folken stripped down his trousers, seething with hatred. He bit his lip hard, willing himself not to make a sound as Folken pushed into him.

__

Scream.

Blood squeezed out the corners of Dilandau's mouth from the wound his back teeth were gouging into his lip. Little crimson beads splattered onto the seat of the throne, mingling with the droplets of salty tears.

__

Scream.

Dilandau didn't unclench his jaw until his nose was too congested from tears for any air to pass through. His bloodied lip hung open, bit halfway through, under his pink teeth, letting the beads of blood fall more freely from him.

__

Scream!

He was sobbing pathetically. Soft whimpers, desperately trying to be held back. But he had so far refused to cry out.

__

Scream scream scream!

Folken drove more violently. Still he was not rewarded by the piercing sound of pain, anger, fear, hate, despair.

__

Why won't you scream?

Dilandau sobbed and sputtered as blood pooled in his lip. His fingers clawed at the shining, varnished wood of the throne, his arms shaking too much to get a steady hold on it.

__

'Scream, damn you, scream!' Folken whispered through his teeth as he pushed.

Obediently, Dilandau screamed. A loud, horrible scream. A wonderful scream that sent thrills of joy down Folken's spine.

It wasn't long after that Folken carefully wiped the blood and tears from his throne with a sleeve and sat, glancing to Dilandau sprawled on the floor where Folken had thrown him. 'Get out,' Folken ordered flatly.

The child picked himself up, stiffly, pulling his trousers back to his waist. He was sobbing very lightly still. Fresh blood oozed slowly down his chin over the congealed gore already there. He shook visibly as he ambled slowly towards the door.

'Do you hate me, Dilandau?' Folken asked, a grin again tugging at the corner of his mouth.

'No, Lord Folken,' Dilandau responded in a shaky voice. And it was true; Folken could still hear the sincerity.

Furious again, Folken let loose a mental punch that hit the boy in the back, sending him again sprawling to the floor. 'I said get out!' Folken shouted, his jaw then clenching in anger.

With a cough and a sob, Dilandau fled.


	4. Which is actually pretty mild

Most characters within were created by and belong to the persons associated with The Escaflowne Movie Copyright 2000

Fostering Hatred

Chapter Four  
Confession

Jajuka stared into space, his eyes wide and taking in nothing. He gently rocked back and forth, Dilandau curled in his arms, almost hidden completely from view. The boy's thin yet strong fingers were woven into Jajuka's thick mane of dusty, brown fur, his face buried there and his hysterical sobs muffled and soft.

Dilandau's entire body shook with the tremors of his sobs, almost so much that Jajuka didn't notice that he too was shaking. He sat, wrapped protectively about Dilandau, rocking slightly and saying nothing. It was only from pure exhaustion that Dilandau's crying calmed. His shaking subsided to a minute trembling after a very long time.

'You need to get away from here,' Jajuka said very quietly.

'No.'

'We could go now and be far away before Folken noticed us missing.'

'No.'

'You can't--'

'_Shut up!_ I _won't_ run away! It'll be just like the _last time!_ _Anywhere_ I go, he'll _find_ me! Just leave me _alone!_' Dilandau pushed himself away from Jajuka.

'Please just--' Jajuka pleaded desperately.

'No! Stop it!' Dilandau shrieked, covering his ears.

Jajuka closed his eyes and gave a shuddering sigh. Dilandau seemed to regard Folken as some sort of god. He was terrified of him and enraptured, despite the constant beatings and now this. 'Your lip's still bleeding?' Jajuka asked at length, his voice husky and heavy with emotion.

'Yes,' Dilandau trained his eyes on the floor.

Jajuka stood up and rested his hand on Dilandau's shoulder, guiding him out, 'Come on, let's go see Reg. You may need stitches for that.'

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sora was standing there, looking at him. She'd come into the throne room shortly after Dilandau had left and she hadn't said anything. She was just standing there, gazing at him with her sad, pitying eyes. Damn her.

Folken glared at her.

She didn't speak.

She knew, of course, damned oracle. She knew everything.

She stared on silently.

Folken stayed still in his perch, his eyes staring into the space beyond her, unfocussed and blank. He was numb with horror for what he'd just done. His mind buzzed unpleasantly and couldn't seem to find any thoughts to think. His stomach churned. Blind hate desperately searched for a subject and found only himself.

Even as he tried to refocus it on Sora, redirecting his emotions as he so often did, he couldn't manage to. Sora stood ahead of him like a goddess of horrible judgement. Some part of him was absolutely convinced that she was about to kill him.

Desperate sadness and loss fueled the self-loathing boiling within him. He thought he might vomit. He thought he might slit his throat. He thought...

'Sora, am I mad?' Folken asked, finally breaking the horrible silence.

'Only you can answer that, Lord Folken,' Sora's high, strange voice was barely above a whisper, as always.

Was she saying that because she was afraid to tell him that he was mad? Everything that he had gained these past years would crumble. No one could know. He had to kill Sora. He had to kill Dilandau.

He sat completely still, making no move to do either. And he wouldn't. Sora kept looking at him. Never lowering her gaze, almost seeming not to blink. Could she read his very thoughts?

The fear he had always felt of Sora, since sparing her life when he heartlessly butchered her mother in vengeance for giving the crown to Van, kept his eyes from meeting hers. He couldn't look at her. She was pain itself.


	5. Which is slashy and made me blush

Most characters within were created by and belong to the persons associated with The Escaflowne Movie Copyright 2000

Fostering Hatred

Chapter Five  
Flirtation

Dilandau's opponent was on the defensive. He stepped back once, again, flinched, barely managing to block a particularly aggressive attack. Dodge, perry, block; no time to strike his own blow. The scrawny bastard was just too fast.

He was so shocked suddenly, by cold steel sliding through his chest cavity and out his back, that he froze, dropping his own sword and staring at Dilandau. 'You fvcking son-of-a-btch!' he gasped incredulously.

'Hm, you're dead. What a shame,' Dilandau shrugged, drawing his sword back out of the man's chest and letting him fall to the ground, lifeless and offended. People really weren't supposed to die in practice, that was generally considered a rather bad thing to happen.

Dilandau tilted his head, looking at the fresh corps crumpled at his feet. It was a very clean and precise kill. It would have been perfect if not for the fact that the man wasn't supposed to be dead. Dilandau wiped the blood from his blade on the corps's uniform shirt then sheathed it, wandering out of the arena.

No one stopped him, and he'd never been reprimanded before for accidentally killing someone. Most people in the Black Dragon Army were quite terrified of him. Again he found himself often being referred to as a demon. It amused him to actually be earning such a title now.

'You seem unconcerned about killing your countryman,' Gatti said conversationally, catching and walking with him in the hall.

'Why should I care any more about killing him than any other man?' Dilandau ground his teeth annoyedly. It irritated him the way Gatti always seemed to be following him around.

'Practically speaking, it depletes our own troops, weakening the Black Dragon as a whole,' Gatti said in an easy, casual way.

'And why should I care about that?' Dilandau countered.

Gatti looked at him thoughtfully for a minute before answering, 'Perhaps you shouldn't. What are you fighting for?'

Dilandau snorted, 'The only thing in this world worth fighting for. Myself.'

Gatti nodded, smiling slightly and gazing at the floor ahead of him. This annoyed Dilandau more, the way Gatti didn't seem to find anything wrong with his complete lack of patriotism. He glanced sideways at Gatti, who looked up and smiled.

Dilandau looked quickly back ahead of him, tilting his head slightly so that his silver bangs obscured his burning face. The affection in Gatti's smile didn't bother him nearly so much as the attraction he felt in return. He disliked relationships or the idea of being dependent on anyone and had been particularly bitter since Reg's ever-so-polite rejection a few months earlier.

'Why are you always following me around?' he demanded rounding on Gatti.

'Because I like you.'

'Why?'

'I don't know,' Gatti said honestly, shrugging. Dilandau set to walking down the hall again. 'Do I need a reason? It seems odd; I've never heard anyone ask that before. Why shouldn't I like you?'

'Shall I make you a list?'

Gatti grinned, 'Don't bother, I doubt it would put me off. You're even sexier when you blush, you know.'

Dilandau bit his tongue, going a bright red despite his best efforts. 'Fvck off,' he replied, failing to hide the flush overtaking his face behind a curtain of hair.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A soft moan of pleasure, relief, excitement found its way between two sets of lips, eagerly locked together. They'd stopped just inside the door to Gatti's room, mutual lust making them unable to go a step further without intimate contact.

As clips and fasteners were impatiently clawed at to relive the excess body heat and longing for more skin to touch, all thoughts of the world outside this room, this moment, were lost. Sweet, lusty nothings were exchanged now and then, often brought up short by their mouths again pressing back into each other's.

In the midst of a deep, wet kiss, Gatti's hand combed through Dilandau's silken hair, cupping his hand round Dilandau's jaw. His thumb came to rest just over a thin, crescent scar just under Dilandau's left eye.

Gasping, Dilandau pushed himself away from Gatti so hard his back hit the wall behind him. He teetered sideways a moment and then let himself slide to the floor, holding his face and squeezing his eyes shut.

'What's wrong?' Gatti asked, recovering his balance and dropping to the floor in front of Dilandau.

Dilandau's mouth moved without sound a while, as he sat there shaking, before he managed to answer, 'I'm sorry... nothing... just forget... sorry...'

'Forget what?' worried anger began to creep into Gatti's voice, 'You're not going to pretend this didn't happen are you?'

'Yes,' Dilandau didn't look at him, his eyes still squeezed tightly shut. 'No... just...' his voice shook as tears began to find their way from his eyes. 'I'm...' he sobbed.

'Dil...?' Gatti leaned forward, putting a hand lightly on Dilandau's arm.

Dilandau almost knocked him backwards, lunging suddenly and wrapping his arms tightly around Gatti's chest. 'Make me forget,' he pleaded into Gatti's neck, 'Make me forget.'

Gatti hugged him in an uncertain, comforting way, face covered with concern and confusion. 'Forget what?' he asked but ventured a guess, 'Or who?'

Dilandau shook in his arms for a long time before saying anything else, 'Please don't ask me that.'


	6. In which Folken is still a jerk

Most characters within were created by and belong to the persons associated with The Escaflowne Movie Copyright 2000

Fostering Hatred

Chapter Six

Pain

The blade skimmed beautifully through the air with only the faintest sound as it traveled. It froze a few feet from its intended target and hung there, perfectly stationary. Folken swung around and looked past it to Dilandau. He raised an eyebrow and Dilandau shrugged unconcernedly as the knife swung itself around in the air and rocketed back towards him.

He hardly registered the pain, as it hit his shoulder, and defiantly did not stumble backwards in the slightest. He stood up strait, evenly looking Folken in the eye and keeping his face absolutely neutral.

'May I ask,' Folken took a few steps towards him from where he had just been standing, berating another officer for a poorly carried out mission, 'why you seem to have just tried to kill me?'

Dilandau shrugged in a lopsided way due to the knife protruding from one shoulder and answered honestly, 'Seemed to be worth a go.'

Folken grinned, throwing Dilandau into a marble pillar behind him. 'Do you hate me, Dilandau?' Folken asked in his usual, expectant and confident way.

'Course not,' Dilandau rasped and was hit by another wall of force.

Folken frowned angrily, letting Dilandau drop to the ground before picking him up again throwing him into the far wall. The blade in Dilandau's shoulder twisted, bringing a grimace over Dilandau's face. Folken grinned and pulled the knife away, letting it drop a few feet from Dilandau and threw more force into his attack to make a slight crack begin to appear in the wall behind Dilandau and at the same time the unmistakable cracking of bones echoed through the open, stone room.

Dilandau opened his mouth to scream, but the air seemed all to be pressed out of his lungs. Folken walked closer to him, and the pressure eased to the point that Dilandau could painfully gasp for air with a squeaking yelp.

'I could kill you quite easily, you know,' Folken said quietly.

'I know,' Dilandau gasped, 'but you won't.'

Folken raised an eyebrow, 'And why is that?'

'Because you enjoy watching me suffer too much,' Dilandau answered weakly, annoyed at the way his vision seemed to be fading into blackness.

Folken's deep, rumbling chuckle faded through the blackness that was wrapping round Dilandau. 'Ah Dilandau, you're far too clever to dispose of so...' the sound faded off into silence as Dilandau lost track of himself.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dilandau groaned, pain starting to fade back into his awareness. 'Hallo,' a cheerful voice greeted him softly. 'You look as though you're coming to.'

'Unfortunately,' Dilandau rasped back, cracking his eyes open slightly to blearily see a surgeon standing next to his cot, looking calm and warmly reassuring as always.

'Want to hear the damage?' Reg asked.

'Yeah,' Dilandau answered, trying to keep as still as possible as he drifted more into consciousness and pain became more prominent.

Reg pulled a stool over and plopped down next to Dilandau saying in a casual way, 'Knife wound of course, two dislocated shoulders, hair-line fracture on your right wrist, six broken ribs, sprains here and there and a punctured lung which all kept us rather busy most of the afternoon.'

'Really?' Dilandau said in surprise, he didn't think he'd ever damaged a lung before.

'No, you're absolutely preachy,' Reg gave him an annoyed look. 'Yes "really", I wish you wouldn't get yourself so beat up, Dilandau. I may be able to patch you up but it still takes a toll on you, and you were pretty close to gone this morning.'

'Sorry,' Dilandau lied.

Reg sighed, rolling his eyes. '"Sorry" would be a lot better if you didn't do it again. We already had other people needing medical treatment when you came along from being an idiot. And Deb chloroformed Gatti because he was pissing everybody off so much, with him and his angst hanging around. That was actually pretty funny, but that's entirely beside the point.'

Dilandau laughed and then flinched, his chest screaming with pain. Reg frowned sadly at him, standing up and filling a siring with anesthetic. 'You're in for a week this time, no complaints, it's your own fault.'

''Kay,' Dilandau whispered back, 'Thanks, Reg'

Reg pressed the needle into Dilandau's arm, emptied the siring and then softly combed a hand through Dilandau's hair. 'Any time, kid,' he said softly.

'I'm not a kid,' Dilandau mumbled, lightheaded weariness starting to overtake him.

'Then stop acting like one,' Reg grinned and very lightly kissed his forehead.

He watched Dilandau fall into drug endued slumber before disassembling the siring for sterilization and, pulling the rubbery curtain round Dilandau's cot, went in search of another blanket to drape over his young officer friend. As he strode across the room, he saw Folken standing inside the door looking at him. With a horrible feeling of dread he changed his course to go greet the emperor.

'Is there anything I can do for you, Lord Folken?' he asked cheerfully.

'When will Dilandau be fit for duty?' Folken asked coldly, almost making Reg shiver.

'He'll need to stay here for a week, and he may not be back to full health for a few days after that,' Reg answered with an almost mechanically polite cheer.

Folken nodded, 'You seem well aquatinted with him.'

Something in the way he'd said that made Reg's stomach feel as though it had suddenly turned to lead. 'Well hardly a week goes by when he's not needing healing.'

Folken looked at him consideringly for a moment, saying nothing. Reg very suddenly made a strange, gurgling, gasping sound and clawed at the air as he staggered and fell backwards, his eyes wide with shock and pain. He landed hard against the tiled floor, staring up at Folken, deep crimson spreading across his jacket, and twitched for a while longer before going still.

The room was silent but for the low whir of a few medical instruments. Folken gazed down at the dead doctor before him a moment and then turned, sweeping out of the room. The dripping heart that had been hanging before him fell to the floor with a sickening squelch.

As soon as his footsteps faded, a dozen hurried, soft ones of the other doctors, crowding towards Reg, took their place. They didn't speak as they lifted his body between them, each with their head bent in silent prayer to a handful of different deities, and carefully set him on an operation table.

As Mezndel, formerly a priest to the Great Phoenix, ran to fetch the scriptures hidden under his mattress, most of the rest set to carefully cleaning out the large incinerator and preparing it for the body. Deb spoke very softly as he poured boiling water over the blackened metal, 'What do you think he'd want done with his ashes?'


	7. In which somebody else gets to be a jerk

Most characters within were created by and belong to the persons associated with The Escaflowne Movie Copyright 2000

Fostering Hatred

Chapter Seven  
Grief

The doctors hadn't said anything, familiar with the way Dilandau would fly into a rage at times. All week as he recovered from his injuries, they kept putting him off every time he asked where Reg was. Not until they released him to the world of the well did Deb tell him what had happened.

Dilandau stormed down the hall, tears openly streaked down his face. People unfortunate enough to be between the infirmary and the throne room were thrown into the walls with a thought. The guards at the door were thrown aside and the door slammed brutally open.

He stood in the doorway, glaring daggers at Folken who looked surprised and amused by his obvious fury. His shoulders shook. His anger flowed through the room like a strong wind, scattering papers and fluttering robes.

'WHY?' he screamed, the knot in his throat constricting the sound of his voice.

Folken smiled grimly at him, 'You'll have to be a bit more specific than that, Dilandau.'

'_Why. Did. You. Kill. Reg?_' Dilandau spelled out, loud, shrill, and unnatural.

'The physician? Because I felt like it,' Folken grinned cruelly.

Dilandau screamed ferociously, his anger focussing itself into a wave of psyonic force rushing at Folken. Folken cut through it, calling on his own Dragon Blood to counter and slam Dilandau back into the ground. He lay still for a moment.

'Do you hate me?' Folken asked like always.

'Almost,' Dilandau whispered.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Gatti flinched as Dilandau's hysterical, shuddering sobs were again interrupted by a fit of coughing and then faded back into mourning. He stroked Dilandau's hair and held him, saying nothing. No words had passed for almost an hour as Dilandau cried into Gatti's chest, incapacitated with grief.

Tears rolled sideways down Gatti's face, soaking into the pillow and making his face sting very faintly with salt. He wasn't grieving for Reg but rather the delusion that he had ever had his lover's heart.

Lying with arms curled around him, in his bed, the pain of reality gnawed away at Gatti's soul. Resentment of Reg, pity of Dilandau and horrible sorrow for himself battled within him. He'd known and denied the fact of Dilandau's love for the charming physician but still it felt like a punch in the gut to have it so blatantly shown through his tears.

Gatti sobbed very reluctantly into Dilandau's hair. And as with all grieving, it was impossible to stop once he'd started. More than a year's worth of tears were crowding to be expressed, the painful truth building up so long. The way sometimes, the horrible grief reminded him, lost in erotic passion it would be Reg's name Dilandau cried out.

'I love you so much,' Gatti mumbled through a sob.

'Why?' Dilandau rasped hoarsely.

Gatti sobbed. 'I don't know,' he whispered, shaking.

'Then stop it. What if he killed _you?_' tears bled back into Dilandau's voice on the last few words.

'Wouldn't bother you any more than this, would it?' Gatti said wistfully, fishing for reassurance.

Dilandau lay still for a moment then pushed away, propping himself against his arms and staring at Gatti who avoided his eyes. 'You're _jealous?_' he asked incredulously. '_He's dead!_ What the _fvck_ do you have to be afraid of?'

Gatti still looked away, refusing to meet Dilandau's eyes, 'Being a replacement. Meaning less to you.'

Dilandau stared into space a moment, connections suddenly clicking together in his mind. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to brace himself. 'And what did you ever _think _you were, you _stupid btch?_' Gatti looked up at him, this time Dilandau was avoiding eye contact. He started to speak but was cut off as Dilandau hissed, 'You were never anything more to me than a warm body to fvck.'

Gatti shook, tears coming back to his eyes, '...but--'

'I'm sick of your _whining!_' Dilandau's head snapped up, unleashing a horrible glare.

'You--'

'Get out of my room,' Dilandau hissed quietly.

'You don't--'

'Get out of my room!' he shouted slapping Gatti across the face.

'You _fvcking_ bastard,' Gatti said, silhouetted in Dilandau's doorway a moment later. He slammed the door heavily as he left, retreating to his own room to shout and break things and be horribly depressed.

Dilandau vomited and wept and brainstormed ideas for his next attempt on Folken's life.


	8. In which Dilandau goes crazy and stuff

Most characters within were created by and belong to the persons associated with The Escaflowne Movie Copyright 2000

Fostering Hatred

Chapter Eight  
Contempt

'Dilandau,' Jajuka called softly to the young man curled against the cold stone wall of a small nook in the architecture.

'Go away,' Dilandau croaked in response, not shifting his gaze from the filthy floor, rarely swept for being so far out of the way.

Jajuka crouched on the floor near him, 'I know you're hurting. That's all right. You've every right to.'

'Go _away_, Jajuka. There's a death penalty associated with being nice to me, you know,' he didn't shift in the slightest, looking almost like a statue curled there.

'Is that why you've alienated everyone?'

'Or maybe I just don't like people,' Dilandau scoffed.

Jajuka sighed heavily, 'Your men are all worried about you.'

'Good for them. Leave me alone. I don't want to talk to you,' Dilandau's voice trailed softly off.

'Mourn then,' Jajuka said quietly standing up, 'but realize that there are still people in this world that care about you.'

'Well I don't care about them.'

Dilandau listened to his footsteps trail off and then the approach of another set. The stride was chillingly familiar to his ears and he didn't bother to look up before addressing the new interruption.

'Are you happy now? I'm miserable. My life is hell. That's just what you wanted, isn't it?' he croaked through his swollen and congested throat.

Folken stopped, gazing at him from across the hallway, 'What would make you think that?'

Dilandau said nothing for a while, staring at the ground and wishing he were dead. 'If you hate me so much, why not just kill me? Be rid of me?'

'That's ridiculous, Dilandau, I don't hate you,' Folken's smooth, cool voice seemed soothing in some horribly morbid way. 'Besides that, I need you.'

'What do I represent to you?'

Folken was slightly taken aback, 'What?'

'You're military would be strong enough without me. The whole planet fears you. You really _don't_ need me in any _practical_ sense. So what do I _represent_ in your sick little world that's so damned _important?_' Dilandau finally shifted, looking up at Folken in a placid, calm way that disconcerted them both. 'Am I what you've lost? Am I the sickness that rules your mind? Am I your childhood? Am I the last time you ever felt any compassion for the world? Am I somehow your justification?'

Folken stared at him, his features blank, for a long time. No more words passed between them before Folken lunged forward, wrapping his fingers viciously around Dilandau's neck. Almost as soon as he'd touched Dilandau, he leapt back as though burned, recoiling from the first contact they'd shared in six years.

Folken retreated into the hall, his hands shaking. Dilandau lurched to his feet, giggling in a shrill, half-crazed way. He looked levelly at Folken, grin plastered across his mouth, and jeered, 'Still can't bear to come within arms length of me, _Lord_ Folken? I'm everything you've ever done wrong, _aren't I?_ Everything you _hate_ most about yourself. I'm a _mirror_ to you. And you're turning me _into you_. I'm going _mad_, Folken! You're making me go _mad!_ Aren't you _proud_ of yourself? I'm hurting and _killing_ the people I've grown up around! Isn't it _wonderful?_ Aren't you _happy?_'

Folken was backing away, looking terrified, as Dilandau advanced a step with every sentence. 'And why don't you _kill me_, Folken? You could have done so many times before! Afraid _you'll_ die too? Or am I the only thing anchoring you from going _completely_ over the edge until you can't even _think?_ What's wrong, _Folken?_ You're not _afraid_ of _me_, _are you_?'

Folken snapped. A raging torrent of mental force threw itself at Dilandau. He blocked, throwing hard against it his own power. Their boots began to slide backwards on the slick floor. The power of their wills surged all through the hallway.

The realization that he was not only holding Folken off but also gaining ground hit Dilandau suddenly and a new confidence bubbled within him. He reached to his side and drew his sword, taking slippery steps towards Folken.

Folken's eyes widened with fear and outrage. Dilandau was matching his power and advancing. He couldn't _do_ that. It wasn't possible. The little son of a whore was besting him.

Dilandau crept closer very slowly, narrowing the distance between them, his eyes glowing with bloodlust. He was close enough to strike. He set his feet and sprung forward, ready to lay into Folken and tear him apart.

In the moment that he leapt, his concentration strayed from the mental battle and he was flung backwards with all the force Folken could muster. He hit the stone wall behind him and slumped to the ground as Folken staggered, exhausted and frightened, and crumpled to his knees.

He stared at Dilandau, what was left of his practical sense telling him to kill the wretch while he was unconscious, or hoping he was already dead. He climbed to his feet and stepped towards Dilandau's body. There was a small, shuddering rise and fall to his chest. Half of him was relieved and half of him disappointed. He leaned down and took up Dilandau's fallen sword, standing over him, ready to drive it through his skull.

Folken froze like that for a long time, failing to deliver the blow. Finally he let the sword slip free of his fingers and clatter to the floor. The sound echoed up and down the silent, marble corridors. He shivered and turned, fleeing the local but unable to flee the newly risen fear.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dilandau woke again in the infirmary, dazed and not remembering what had led to his arrival there. Deb informed him of his concussion and filled him in on what he'd forgotten or not been conscious to witness. Folken had beat the tar out of him for insolence, as usual. He let that thought pass easily, it was often enough that he woke up with time missing due to head injuries.


	9. In which there is an earthquake

Most characters within were created by and belong to the persons associated with The Escaflowne Movie Copyright 2000

Fostering Hatred

Chapter Nine  
Camaraderie

It took a long time for the rumbling to subside. Dilandau could still feel a soft tremor to the ground below him when he raised his head, looking around to see what damage the shifting rock had done. The ground nearest the cliff edge had fallen, seeming as though it hadn't ever been there.

He whirled, hearing running feet behind him. A silhouette against the twilight sky told him little until the figure called out his name.

'Lord Dilandau!' Chesta shouted, sounding very much as though he were in hysterics.

Dilandau staggered slightly, bringing a hand to his head as though to steady his dizziness. 'What's wrong?' he demanded as Chesta clattered to a stop in front of him, 'Is someone hurt?'

Chesta's eyes shown with tears in the half-light from the slowly setting moons. 'Almost everyone,' he whispered shakily, 'they're all... they fell. I can still feel Gatti and Ryuon and Jajuka... and I did have Guimel... but he's gone now... They all fell...'

'What... what are you talking about...?' Dilandau stared at Chesta, his face barely visible in the darkness that the moons were leaving behind, 'You... you made a mistake... they can't be...'

Dilandau collapsed to his knees, clamping his hands over his ears as though to unhear what Chesta had said. He screamed. There were no words, no thoughts, nothing but raw, unfocussed, horrified and hysterical, emotion.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dilandau's face was pressed against the cold floor of the cavalry's rec room, surrounded by sticky smears of congealed blood. He lay sprawled there, sobbing and slowly bleeding from the small gash on his forehead. He felt nauseous. He couldn't remember ever feeling this terrible. He'd vomited twice on the way to the fortress.

Nobody spoke. Nobody acknowledged each other. Chesta was sitting closest to Dilandau, bent double on a couch, crying quietly into his hands. Dilandau could just hear Ryuon's heavy-healed pacing over the sound of his own sobs. Gatti was leaning against a wall, tears slowly falling from his chin and the tip of his nose. Jajuka hadn't come back, though Chesta insisted he was unhurt.

Dilandau had little concept of time; he felt as though he hadn't moved from that spot in days. He wasn't sure how long he was sobbing incoherently before he started mumbling in a wretched, exhausted way. 'I'm cursed...' his voice was congested and froggy. 'Everyone I care about dies... run... get away from me before you're killed too.'

'Shut up!' Ryuon whirled on him. 'You're not fvcking cursed! Nobody's leaving, so just shut up!'

'Fvck off, Ryuon,' Gatti hissed at him. 'Nobody said they were leaving. Just fvck off.'

Sounds as though a fight was brewing between the two.

'Stop it,' Chesta whispered into his hands.

Footsteps across the floor and Dilandau found himself being pulled away from the cool stone. He let himself be folded into Gatti's arms and wrapped his arms naturally about Gatti's waist. 'You're not cursed. It's just this war. This slaughter. Nobody's leaving. I'm not leaving you alone,' Gatti shushed quietly.

Dilandau fell into a new fit of sobbing, tightening his arms around Gatti. Time sloshed around disregarded again as Dilandau's grieving slowly subsided. 'I'm sorry,' he choked.

'Yeah,' Gatti kissed Dilandau's hair, 'I know.'

'Please, please don't die,' Dilandau whispered through the knot in his throat.

'I won't,' Gatti promised and then raised his eyes to look around the room. Four of them left. 'Nobody leaves,' he repeated, 'and nobody dies. We'll come out of this alive and get away as soon as it's over.'

Chesta was sitting up, listening. He smiled weakly. 'Nobody dies,' he agreed. 'We'll look out for each other. Better than before.'

Ryuon nodded slowly, 'We'll come out of this war together. We're still alive and we'll stay that way.'


	10. Which is the end

Most characters within were created by and belong to the persons associated with The Escaflowne Movie Copyright 2000

Fostering Hatred

Chapter Ten  
Power

Dilandau could see red burning through his eyelids from the light hanging over his head.

'I don't like this at all,' Deb said near him.

Deb seemed to have taken charge of things in the infirmary since Reg was killed. There was no real leader among the doctors, some just organized better than others or were better respected within their circle.

'None of you has ever done something at all like this before. You're all just working off books and intuition,' Deb's voice continued in a worried tone.

'Lord Folken believes we'll succeed,' a gravely voice responded.

Deb's voice dropped to a whisper, 'Lord Folken is insane.'

A slight rustling of fabrics may have indicated a shrug. The less familiar voice followed with 'He trusts in our abilities.'

Dilandau tried to lift his eyelids that seemed to be impossibly glued shut. His fingers twitched and pain shot up his arm. Right, they were broken.

'Dilandau, are you awake?' Deb asked in a quiet, controlled voice.

He fought to open his mouth, managing to part his lips just a crack, '...Yeah...'

Hesitation, 'An armor of the Ancient Dragon Clan has been recovered. Lord Folken says you are to pilot it. Do you understand?'

'...Yeah...'

More hesitation, 'That means the sorcerers will have to reset the armor for your blood. That could be very dangerous. You might die.'

Dilandau breathed raspingly through his mouth. He couldn't seem to get enough air.

A very long and awkward pause, 'Do you want to pilot the armor?'

'You... say it... like I have... a choice,' Dilandau coughed painfully.

Deb was silent, the other voice spoke, 'Lord Folken has ordered us to adjust the armor to you. Deb thinks he's got a conscience and is trying to find a way to keep you out of it. Lord Folken has ordered it so.'

They were all silent for a long time. Finally Dilandau spoke again, 'I want to pilot... the armor'

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dilandau fled the wreckage of his armor; Escaflowne was lumbering away, paying him no attention. It had changed color. Black, the color of emptiness. It was going to destroy the planet now, just like in the nursery rhymes. Why were nursery rhymes always about the most depressing things possible?

He stumbled through the rubble of smashed buildings and broken roads. He went carefully away from the smoldering patch of the city that had stood behind Escaflowne. Other fires were breaking out around the city, starting within one house, maybe from a lamp being knocked over, and spreading eagerly across dry wood and the occasional thatched roof.

He picked up a bit of torn canvas as he hurried through the crumbling streets, wrapping it around himself, more out of modesty than cold as a hot breeze blew through the city from the fire burning somewhere to his left. He cursed the bareness of his feet as small, sharp rocks cut into them. He was rarely outside of armored boots excepting when in bed.

He pressed onward through the city, back towards where the foot bound fighting was happening. He could just hear the sounds of battle over the roaring of flames.

And what was he going to, half-naked and unarmed? Just waltzing into the midst of a fight with no protection at all?

He stopped. Why not run? Run as far as he could? There was so much chaos; he wouldn't be missed until he was well out of reach. He'd be free.

No. He wouldn't be free while Folken was alive. He still had to kill that son-of-a-btch. So he had to go back. Back to hell.

'DAMN YOU FOLKEN!' he screamed at the sky. He was up there somewhere. In his damned floating pyramid. Waiting for the world to end.

The sound of hoof beats grew stronger above the other sounds. Would it be the Abaharaki or the Black Dragon Cavalry? Death or salvation? With Dilandau's luck it was sure to be the Abaharaki.

Round the broken buildings and into view, a horse bound, followed by another and another. All three and their riders were clad in the primly monotonous armor of the Black Dragon. Dilandau shouted joyfully as they bore down on him, happy exclamations drowned in the thunder of hooves against stone.

They were talking very quickly and all at once. Through the torrent of excited babble, Dilandau was able to pick out the key point. The fortress was falling.

'What? Stop! What are you talking about?' he demanded.

'It's falling out of the sky!' Chesta exclaimed flailing his arms. 'The whole thing's falling all to bits!'

Dilandau stared at him, mouth slightly open in disbelief. 'You're-- What? But...' he fumbled.

'The Escaflowne flew in, and then the castle started crumbling, and then, uh, Van I guess, flew out!' Gatti elaborated, pushing his coat into Dilandau's arms.

'Its falling on the north end of the city. Squishing everything. It's just falling apart like cake,' Ryuon was shaking slightly with excess adrenaline. He had a bit of blood, somebody else's, splattered lightly across his face.

Dilandau stared vacantly into space a moment before grabbing Chesta by the shoulders and half shouting, 'Is Folken dead?'

'I think... maybe... yes... maybe...' Chesta answered doubtfully, 'There's so much happening, it's really loud and hard to find anything. I barely found you.'

Dilandau let him go, nodding vaguely. Chesta was pale and tired looking; using his oracle powers left him drained, and in a battle this size there was far too much for him to keep track of or sort through.

'What do we do now?' Ryuon asked somewhat anxiously.

Dilandau looked vaguely in the direction he guessed the fortress would be, 'I do believe we drink a toast to Van.'

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You hear a lot of people speak badly of looting, but it can really be quite helpful at times. Particularly when you're in need of a nice set of clothes that _doesn't_ scream '_hated enemy_' to everyone you pass on the streets. There's not a lot of consolation in that for the looties, but if you believe in karma, they probably deserved it. If not, just remember that it's their own fault for leaving their windows unshuttered.

Stealing horses from fallen soldiers is also a plus. It's not as though they're going to need them any more. However, it's advisable to loot yourself some clothes first. If you've never ridden a horse without long, sturdy pants before, let me tell you, it's itchy and abrasive and painful. Don't try it at home, kids. Once happily in a comfortable pair of red pants, white tunic and no black at all, Dilandau felt rejuvenated and once again ready to take on the world.

However he had no intention of taking on the locals when they decided to go Dragon hunting. They had to take a long detour to get out of the city walls, avoiding the burning areas and large groups of people, but enough they were in the craggy country outside and looking back at the sun sinking over the burning city. The smoke made the sunset a glorious array of warm, rich colors. It's interesting the way beautiful sunsets tend to follow destruction.

Dilandau looked back on the city and the smoldering ruin of the black pyramid he'd been trapped in for nearly a decade.

__

Do you hate me? Folken had always asked. It was some sick sort of game, Dilandau had realized after a while.

__

No, he'd always replied.

Now the game was over and Dilandau had won. His head was bend down slightly, his eyes closed in silent prayer. It was a peaceful and serene picture that was rather ruined when Dilandau stood up in his stirrups after a while and screamed as loud as he could 'I WIN, YOU FVCKING BASTARD!'

And that's the end. 


End file.
